You Can Have Me However You Like, Sir
by wanderlustlights
Summary: Harry is Draco Malfoy’s newest assistant at Chic & Style, and has had a severe crush on him for years now. Can he get over it to actually get the job done? Or will he be doomed to suffer from it for as long as he works under him?


**Title:** You Can Have Me However You Like, Sir  
**Author:** justme_jane  
**Prompt: **#121 submitted by cassie_black12  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing(s):** Draco/Harry, non-explicit Ron/Hermione, past Neville/Harry  
**Summary:** Harry is Draco Malfoy's newest assistant at Chic & Style, and has had a severe crush on him for years now. Can he get over it to actually get the job done? Or will he be doomed to suffer from it for as long as he works under him?  
**Warnings:** Over-use of the word 'sir' in the severely naughty sense, boy on boy actions, grinding against each other  
**Word Count:** 5778  
**Author's Notes:** The reveal is up, yay!!!!!!!!!!! This was my story, written for the first hd_career_fair fest. Enjoy! :D

--

Harry sighed, his hand poised above the doorknob.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

"Sir? You wanted to see me?"

Draco Malfoy sat behind the desk in his office at _Chic & Style_. He looked up from where he was writing down notes on the piece of parchment in front of him. "Ah, yes. Potter. Good," he said in a clipped manner, finishing up. "Take this and file it for me." He handed the parchment to Harry, who grabbed it before merely standing there waiting for further instruction. "Yes?" Draco added, clearly irritated.

Harry swallowed his pride and answered him. "Do you need anything else, Sir?"

Draco stared at him, a smirk slowly crossing his face. "You know, Potter, I think I quite enjoy you being under me. I think I could get used to it."

_You can have me under you anytime you like, __Sir__…_ Harry's torturous mind thought in betrayal. "Uhm… yeah."

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "You like being under me?"

Harry blinked. "Er… sorry?"

"I _said_: you _enjoy_ being under me?" Draco questioned in amusement.

Harry felt his cheeks flame. "Uhm… sure. G-gotta go." And with that, he attempted to shuffle out of the editor-in-chief's office.

"Potter," Draco called from behind him, making Harry stop in mid-step and turn back around. "_Gotta go_ what, Potter?" His eyes held a glint of humor, mixed in with gleeful, unadulterated taunt.

Harry's heart pumped madly. "Gotta go, _Sir_," he answered in a whisper.

He had just started to walk again when he heard Draco's voice once again. "Oh, and Potter." Harry pivoted on the spot to face him. "Have I ever told you how wonderful you look in a suit?"

Harry's heard skipped a beat and damn it all but his cheeks seemed to be getting more flushed with every word the blond man said, as he laughed nervously, unable to control his large grin. "Heh… heh… y-you, too, Sir."

Draco raised his eyebrow again, clearly amused. "Thank you, Potter."

Harry chuckled again, turned around… and then smacked right into the doorframe. "Oh! Ohh… _damn it!_" he yelled, holding the spot on his forehead where it had hit the wall. Harry tried to grin, though it came out as more of a grimace. "Eh… Goodbye, then, Sir…"

As he exited the office, Draco continued to smirk behind him. "Oh, this is going to be just too easy."

--

"Arghh!" Harry groaned, as he lay upside down on the living room sofa. "'Mione, I hit my head on the _fucking wall_! You've got to help me here!"

The former Gryffindor raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh yeah, and why is that, Harry, dear?" she quipped, a small smile coming to her face.

Harry thought for a moment.

Hermione watched as he clearly searched his mind for a legitimate reason, and rolled her eyes at him. _Hopeless… It was a rhetorical question, you dolt_, she thought.

Harry sighed, defeated. "Listen, Hermione, just _please_ - help me out here? Pretty please? With sugar and a cherry on top?" he pled, and proceeded to give his no-longer-bushy-haired friend his now-signature puppy dog pout.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. Again.

Damn it all but Harry was really getting sick of people doing that to him today.

She sighed. "Do you really like him?"

Harry nodded dejectedly. "I can't help myself here, 'Mione."

"Then you'll figure it out for yourself, Harry. You don't need me to help you get a man; you seem to be doing fine on your own. You said he's already flirting with you?"

Harry nodded again. "Well, yeah, I told you our whole conversation… that is flirting, yeah?"

"Oh yes, believe me, Harry, that's flirting alright. That's definitely flirting." Hermione grinned. "You know, Harry, you may be cute, but when it comes to love you're really pretty thick."

Harry stared at her, open-mouthed.

"And no, I will not help you. You can figure it out all on your own." And then the damn girl went back to her reading.

Harry groaned, letting his head all back against the couch once again.

--

Draco was just putting out a cigarette when Harry knocked on the already slightly ajar door to his office.

"Uhm… Sir? Pansy said you needed to see me?"

Draco looked up from the rough draft of the next issue. "Potter. Yes. Take this and file it. Oh, and some tea would be ideal. Earl Grey. I trust you know how to make a decent cup of tea?"

"Yes, Sir."

When he didn't move, Draco started to stare at him. "Was there something else you needed, Potter?"

"What do you smoke, Sir? Just out of curiosity, that is."

Draco glanced from Potter to the cigarette in the ash tray and back to Potter. "Marlboro Lights, Potter. Is that all? Or do you feel the need to continuously disrupt my work here?"

Harry flushed. "No, Sir. It's just… that's what I used to smoke, too. Well, before Hermione convinced me to quit, that is, when she told me - in horrifying detail, mind you - all the severe consequences of smoking for an extended period of time, so…"

Draco seemed hesitant. "…Consequences, Potter?"

"Uhm, yeah… Liver Cancer, for instance."

"That sounds… bad," Draco deadpanned. "I've never heard of that before, actually. What is it, exactly?"

"Er… well, you die from it, I know that much. Hermione's kind of annoying, it's hard to take everything in all at once when she's blabbing on in your ear for an hour or two about the side effects of your nasty habit. Also, it really messes with your teeth, I guess." Draco's hand flew to his mouth in defense, and Harry coughed at the awkward silence that followed as he tried not to laugh at Draco's actions. "Well I'd better get back, then." He moved to walk out of the office and heard Draco's voice just as he was about to go back to his desk.

"Potter. Would you, erm… like to look it all up for me? This Liver Cancer, I mean to say. It might be helpful if you really have quit just from a conversation such as that."

Harry stood in place, surprised. "Sure. Right away. Well, I, uhm… Goodbye, Sir."

And with that, Harry fled.

"Goodbye, Potter," Draco said to the now-empty room.

--

"Hey, Pansy…" Harry mumbled to the former Slytherin, not being able to help the sad melancholy tone in his voice as he went to do the assignment of Draco's.

"How many times have I told you that you are not allowed, under any circumstances, to call me by my first name, Potter?" Parkinson told him with a sneer.

Harry fumed, shutting the door to the filing cabinet with a bang, and walked off in a huff. "Fuck you, Parkinson."

"POTTER," Parkinson bellowed, to which Harry grimaced to himself and turned back around to face her, despite his impassive face. "Get back here now."

Harry took slow steps forward, until he was mere feet in front of the girl. "What?"

"You may not like me, Potter, I may not like you, but nonetheless, for some strange reason that I cannot possibly fathom, Draco does like you, and I can't change that."

"…What? He… what do you mean he _likes me_?"

Parkinson merely continued to stare him down, before seeming to size him up. "Come with me tonight, Potter, after work."

"What? Why?"

"Just wait for me when we get done here and we can… talk. We'll get drinks and we can talk."

"Talk? You want me to… _talk_ with you?" Harry asked her incredulously.

Parkinson's eyes glared daggers at him. "Just be here." And then she just walked away, just like that, without even saying another word.

Bitch.

--

"We're getting you Armani, Potter, now shut up and follow," Parkinson griped as she pulled a reluctant Harry through the Wizarding world's version of Bloomingdale's.

"Ouch! Parkinson, stop, you're going to pull my fucking arm out of its fucking socket!" Harry yelled at her, and started rubbing his arm as she finally let up on all the pulling.

"You know, I really don't like you ordering me around like this, Parkinson. And I thought we were going to go get drinks or something!!!"

"Deal with it, Potter, I'm doing this for your own good, trust me. And really, have you _never_ met a Slytherin before? It was all a ploy, you dunce."

Harry grimaced. "You? Trust _you_? A Slytherin? I don't think so, but thanks, I'll be going now."

Parkinson was in front of him in a flash. "You're not going anywhere, Potter," she warned. "Now," she said, handing out the suit she had found, "go put this on, and no complaining, no whining, no _nothing_ while you do it, I would like you quiet and willing. Go."

Harry wavered for the slightest second. _Scary braud,_ he thought as he went into the dressing rooms. _Reminds me a bit of Mrs. Weasley…_

In his wake stood a smirking, satisfied Pug-Faced Parkinson as she sat on the bench, legs crossed.

Moments later Harry stood in front of her, decked out in a brand new designer suit.

"Well, Potter, I must say, you clean up pretty well, surprisingly."

"Thanks," Harry said grudgingly, grinding his teeth to keep from saying more.

They went through the next few suits like this, Parkinson berating him and Harry trying to keep from saying something snide while he pretended to be grateful for what she was doing for him.

"Alright, next we need… informal clothes, hats, jewelry, scarves, coats, jackets, gloves, and of course - shoes." She happily ignored any of Harry's protests, especially the one at 'hats'. Nevertheless. He would thank her eventually.

Harry groaned. His long day at work had turned into a very long night of shopping, as well, indeed.

Damn it.

He'd kill her, he swore he would.

--

"I _cannot believe_ you made me buy all this stuff," Harry griped as they exited the last store.

"Ohh… sure you can." Pansy smirked.

"It's going to take me three trips just to get it all up to my flat!"

"Whatever, like that's supposed to be my problem?"

"Parkinson, you suck, and I am going to hate you for the rest of my life, I hope you are aware of that."

"I am. And to be honest, I'm not sure I really care, either."

Harry stared at her for a moment before turning around to go home.

"See you tomorrow, dearie! Next stage tomorrow night!"

_She is far too sunny for her own good. I'll murder her, I swear I will, if she says one more positively optimistic thing like that again._

When he got home, Harry didn't even bother to put anything away before plopping down on his bed, setting the alarm, and passing out cold.

--

"Here's your coffee, Sir, two creams, no sugar, just as you asked."

"Yes, Potter, thank you," Draco clipped.

"…Something wrong, Sir?"

Draco sighed. "Not wrong, per se, just… a glitch. My mother would like me to marry within a year. 'Some nice witch' is her request, though I'm sure she has someone lined up already and is planning to ambush me next time I visit her for dinner, which likely is sometime very soon."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you have to be sorry for, Potter, you haven't done anything."

"Well, either way…" Harry said, with a small blush.

"_Either way_, you're sorry? Oh _honestly_, Potter, speak more like a Neanderthal, why don't you."

"Sorry, Sir," Harry said with remorse clear in his tone though he held his head high.

Draco finally paused to take a good long look at him. "Are those new clothes, Potter?"

"Er… yes."

"Handiwork of Pansy, I presume?"

_Of course, Malfoy, you don't honestly think I picked this out myself?! Please, I'm flattered you think I have that much fashion sense…_ "Uhm, no, actually. I put it together myself, Sir. I, er…" _Think, Potter, THINK, damn you!_ "I was looking through the magazine to see what other men wear and came up with it based on that."

"Well. You look good, Potter."

"Thank you, Sir." Harry allowed himself a brief smile.

"Now, back to your desk, I'll call when I need something else."

Harry's smile fell almost immediately with the dismissive words as Draco continued to write.

"Right. Well… enjoy your coffee, Sir."

--

"I got that information on the long-term effects of smoking for you, Sir," Harry said as he entered Draco's office the next day and handed the rolls of parchment with the information on them to the blond.

"Ah. Thank you, Potter."

Harry sat behind the chair opposite the desk, hands playing with each other nervously as he stared at Draco. "What are you working on there, Sir?"

Draco's head stayed down in concentration. "Fall catalogue, Potter."

"Ah." Harry turned his eyes to look around the room while his thumbs continued to duel.

Draco threw down his quill. "Okay, that's it, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"I… I don't know what you mean, Sir."

"You _do_ know what I mean, Potter. You come in here, disturb my work, ask me inane questions that go nowhere, and won't stop for anything."

"Won't stop what, Sir?"

"Won't stop acting all fidgety. Now quit it and just tell me what's wrong. _Sit_, Potter."

Harry sat. "Okay, well…"

"_Spit it out_, Potter."

"It's just… well, that is to say… how do you know for sure when you're in love with somebody…?" he asked hesitantly, as he stared at his lap, before slowly raising his eyes to meet the grey ones across the large desk in front of him, looking up through his fringe.

Draco blinked. "I, uhm…" he said, before abruptly turning stoic as his Malfoy mask slipped back into place and he resumed his task, "I wouldn't know, Potter. I haven't had much practice with that."

"Oh, uhm… well, that's fine then, thanks, I'll just be going," Harry replied, his words all coming out in a rush.

He was just out the door when Draco's voice stopped him. "You can't stop thinking about them, Potter."

Harry pivoted. "Excuse me, Sir?"

"You can't stop thinking about them. That's always a clear indication." And if Harry had looked at him closer he'd have been able to see the slightest indication of a smile there.

"Oh. Well… thank you, Sir."

Harry left the office.

Back in it, however, one could see Draco Malfoy squeeze his eyes shut and let his head loll in his hands as his fingers found their way through his hair in hopelessness.

--

"Alright. We need to do something with your hair now."

"What's wrong with my hair?" Harry asked irritably.

Pansy attempted to flatten it. "Well, actually being able to run a brush through it for once might be good."

Harry glared at her.

"Hey, don't you be giving me dirty looks, I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart, I'm doing it for your own good, Potter."

"You have a heart?" Harry quipped, smiling up at her innocently from his place in the chair.

"Oh shut up, Potter," Parkinson grumbled angrily. "I think we'll keep the glasses, though, maybe just update them."

"You're not going to give me an eye sight correcting spell? Or contacts, at least?" Harry asked in confusion as he glanced up at her.

Parkinson smirked at him. "No, we're just going to give you different glasses is all."

"…Why?"

"Because, Potter, I have it on good authority that Draco likes his guys to have glasses, so therefore, we are keeping them on you."

"What d'you mean he likes his guys with glasses?"

Parkinson just smirked at him some more, annoyingly enough.

"_What do you mean_, Parkinson?" Harry ground through his teeth. Gods, but he hated not knowing what people were talking about…

"I just mean that he likes guys who wear glasses, is all."

"…Draco really likes me? Like that, I mean?"

"Of course he does, Potter, why do you think he hired you?"

Harry looked up at her sharply. "Wait - you mean to say that Draco hired me… _because_ he fancies me?! That's the only reason? Isn't that, well, bias?"

"Of course it is, Potter. But he's a Slytherin, what do you expect? That just because he has a thing for you that he wouldn't hire you because of that fact? Come on, Potter, you should know how he works by now…"

"Well, yeah, but…"

"But what, Potter? Honestly, you should have gotten over your Gryffindor tendencies by now. It's been years since school."

"Then shouldn't you also have gotten over your Slytherin tendencies?" Harry retorted, raising an eyebrow at her. "And besides, just because we haven't been in separated Houses for years doesn't mean that I lose all the qualities that make me a Gryffindor."

Pansy actually looked taken aback, surprisingly. "I just meant that since Voldemort hasn't been around for a while now, at least, shouldn't you have overcome your pure virtue?"

"Are you saying I'm still too innocent, is that what you're saying? I'll have you know," Harry started, lifting a finger to point it at her defensively, "that I have had _plenty_ of sex, so my virtue disappeared when I first slept with Neville."

Pansy appeared highly disgusted. "You - slept with _Longbottom_?! Aghh," she shivered.

"Yes, and I'll have you know he was _fantastic_ for a first-time lover," Harry told her haughtily, turning back to look in the mirror. "He was very gentle, and a great top, for your information."

"Oh, god! Stop!" Pansy squeaked, holding up a hand, making Harry smirk at her reaction. "I don't need details, Potter!"

"That wasn't details, Parkinson, that was only me telling you how great a top Neville is - he might seem like a geeky, dorky guy who hardly ever got anything out of anything but Herbology, but in bed… oh, Parkinson, you'd be surprised, really you would. If you want _details_, I have some good ones for you," Harry said with a smile. "It was early spring sixth year, just as the flowers were starting to bloom, when Neville came in our dorm, fresh from Herbology with Sprout, and there he stood in the doorway, all covered and dirt, and… Oh, Parkinson, it was gorgeous, watching him undress to put on new, fresh clothes, though he had absolutely no idea I was in there - perving on him, practically - since I had my curtains closed and he couldn't see me, then, but there he was, all muscle from pulling plants and constantly doing extra work for Sprout, and - he was just _gorgeous_, no joke, Parkinson." Harry paused in his tirade to focus back on the girl.

She looked green.

"Parkinson?" Harry asked in concern.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she barely got out, letting out the breath she had been holding.

Harry grimaced. "Sorry - too many details?"

"It's not that, really, per se - more that you were with _Longbottom_, of all people."

"I _told_ you, Parkinson, he's not really what he seems," Harry huffed. "Besides, he really was a good lover," he reiterated, to which Parkinson slapped a hand to her forehead in frustration.

--

Harry walked into the office the next day with a new sense of self-esteem, holding his head high though inside he could feel his heart beating a million miles a minute.

_Oh gods, okay, just stay calm, everything's fine, you look great, STAY CALM, DAMN IT, STAY CALM…!_

"Good morning, Sir," Harry greeted Draco as the blond entered the office, taking Draco's coat and going to put it in the closet. Harry handed Draco his morning cup of tea, and was pleasantly surprised to see Draco do a double take, unable to take his eyes off Harry's new appearance.

"My, you look…" _stunning. Gorgeous. Absolutely, positively fuckable with that new hair, and oh dear gods, is that a new suit? Oh Merlin, it's green and black, stay calm, stay calm, STAY CALM, YOU IDIOT, he's just your assistant for fuck's sake!_

Harry smiled at him and Draco _did not_ feel his heart skip a beat just there. "Good morning, Potter," Draco responded, after several moments of awkward silence.

"Right, well… erm, your papers are on your desk, Sir, just as you asked. I hope everything is to your liking."

_Oh you bet it is, you fucking tease, you. I'd love to throw you down on the floor right there and mount you like a--_

"Sir?"

At her desk, Pansy smirked at them, shaking her head.

"Yes. I, uhm… Well. Work to see to." Draco left without saying another word.

Harry squealed in delight as soon as Draco was out of earshot. "Parkinson, did you see that?! He noticed!"

"I have to say, I have never seen Draco stammer like that before. And of course he noticed, you look a thousand times better. I mean, just look at you - you're practically sex on legs now. You were alright before, but I've really improved you. And I really am very pleased with the frames I picked out for you, they're much better than those, round, outdated ones you've had since you were, what, seven? I greatly prefer the rectangular shape, it suits your face much better. And have you _seen_ your hair? I do good work, that's for sure."

Harry rolled his eyes at her, writing down a note to himself, unable to stop the smile from creeping onto his face. "I still can't believe he noticed…"

Parkinson sighed.

It was going to be a very long day indeed.

--

"Ron! He noticed, he really, really noticed!" Harry screamed in jubilation upon seeing his red-haired best friend that night for dinner at Ron and Hermione's flat.

"Erm… that's great, mate, really…" Ron shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the notion of his best friend dating the ferret.

"Oh hush, Ronald, I think it's great that Harry's finally going to get who he wants. You never know, maybe Draco is the One for him."

"_The One_," Ron snorted, mockingly. "There are no such things as _soul mates_, 'Mione."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him and Harry plopped down onto the sofa sighing happily with a huge grin on his face. "You don't believe in soul mates, Ronald? Then how do you explain _us_?"

Ron colored in embarrassment but didn't say anything.

Harry turned his head toward them. "Of course there are such things as soul mates, Ron. That's what Draco and I are, we're soul mates. I mean, coming out like this after all these years of foreplay…"

"Ewww! I don't want to hear about you and the ferret having _foreplay_, that's disgusting!"

Harry got up to walk toward the redhead. "I just mean that after all those years of fighting, I would think that that's what lead us to where we are now, you know, flirting in the office day after day, and gradually falling in love with him. Hey, maybe I was even falling for him all along, I could be, I don't know, but it certainly is possible."

"And with you and me, Ron, too, that's how it is," Hermione piped in. "We were always fighting all throughout school, and now we're in love after all that. That's what soul mates are, going through all the bad things and still making it through, no matter what."

"Whatever," said Ron, knowing he wasn't going to win against either of them. "Listen, can't we just have supper and forget about this stupid subject? I'm hungry." Ron's hand unconsciously found its way to his stomach and started to rub. Apparently, being an Auror made one quite ravenous after a long day's work.

Hermione smiled at him affectionately. "Of course, dear. It should be ready in only a couple of minutes, if you can possibly wait that long. Oh, and Harry, I must say, I especially like your new look. It's very fetching - suits you, I think.

Harry tugged self-consciously on the hem of his shirt. "Thanks, 'Mione. Parkinson picked it out for me."

Hermione stopped in mid-stride to the refrigerator. "Parkinson? _Pansy_ Parkinson? Pug Face?"

"Yeah," Harry said, sheepishly. "She's taken it upon herself to remake me. I think she sees me as her protégé or something along those lines."

"Well. She certainly has good taste, that's for sure," Hermione said, appraising him up and down.

"'Mione! Boyfriend! Standing right here!"

"Really? Where?" Hermione grinned at the enraged look on Ron's face, loving to see his mouth hanging open.

"I resent that, you know!"

"You _resent_ that, Ronald? Since when has your vocabulary improved? Have you been reading the dictionary again, love?"

Harry snorted, nearly causing his wine to go up into his nose.

"No! I haven't been _reading the dictionary again_," Ron seethed.

"Well, good. The letters are so tiny in it that you might strain your eyes and need prescriptions, and then where would you be? You'd be just another one of those Harry lookalikes we see walking around all over Diagon Alley and the costumes in the Halloween shops," she said, giggling, as Harry joined her with a chuckle while the doorbell rang.

"Oh! They're here!" Hermione shrieked in excitement, running to open the door to welcome the rest of their guests.

"Hey!" Ginny cried, embracing Hermione, before coming into the flat Ron and Hermione shared and greeting the boys.

"Nev! Dean, Seamus! So good to see you!" Harry ran to embrace his former roommates, smiling at all of them and cursing himself for how tall Dean really was now. And Neville, too - the boy had really grown into his looks, that was for sure. It was exactly as he had described to Parkinson, Nev was so… _handsome_ now. Harry would surely consider dating him again, if he wasn't so besotted with Draco.

"You look good, Nev," Harry told him, raking his eyes over him appreciatively.

"Thanks, Harry. You, too. So," he said, moving to the couch to sit on the couch, dragging Harry with him, "tell me about this job of yours. I hear you're working for _Malfoy_?!" Neville said with a laugh.

Harry blushed. "Er… yeah. I'm his second assistant."

Neville furrowed a brow. "Who's the first?"

"Pansy Parkinson," Harry replied sourly. "She does all the really important things, like give him advice and bring his stupid notebook thingy to him, whereas all _I_ get to do is bring him his coffee and file stuff. It's annoying, really. I feel like I should be doing more."

"But you like every minute of it, come on, tell me you don't," Neville said with a smile, making Harry grin in return.

"Yeah, I do. I feel like I'm treated differently there, like I'm actually doing something not just because of who I am, like I actually have to work my way up there, which is nice, I'm actually having to work for a good job. Which I definitely wouldn't have anywhere else, so. It's good."

"I'm glad you're good," Neville told him, patting one of Harry's hands in a friendly gesture. "Now, tell me about working for Malfoy, that's got to be trying."

"Actually, no, not really. I like it, sort of. It's not that bad, actually. I mean, I feel like I can be doing something of more importance, but other than that, it's fine, I like it alright. I can say, however, that it's certainly… _different_ to be working for someone who used to torture you on a daily basis, yes, but we actually get along quite well nowadays. It's not like it was in school," Harry said, trying to fight the flush that threatened to overtake his face as he thought back on the conversations they'd had, all the innuendo that had been exchanged in the many days since he had started there.

"…You like him, don't you?" Neville asked, scrutinizing Harry's red face.

"What? No!" And as soon as he'd said it, Harry knew he was doomed - answering as quickly as he did and trying to deny anything always meant that it was really 'yes' that he was meaning to say. "_Fine_," Harry gritted through his teeth, making Neville roll his eyes and smile at him. "Alright, I do, yeah, but it's not like anything will ever happen between us anyway."

"Why not? Doesn't he like you?"

"Well… I guess. I mean, Parkinson said he does, but how am I ever supposed to get him to admit it, or whatever? She said that's the only reason he hired me, is because he likes me! What the hell am I supposed to do with that?!"

"Er… tell him you like him, too?" Neville suggested, raising an eyebrow at Harry's frustration. "Look, just tell him you like him, and then maybe it'll make things better between the two of you, less awkward and such."

"Oh! I know! There's a party for the magazine that I'm supposed to go to this weekend, I can get him drunk and tell him!"

"…And how would that help the awkwardness? If he's drunk, wouldn't that kind of just defeat the purpose, since he'd have a hangover and would be likely to not remember anything the next day?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. But it'd help me feel better, that's for sure, I could finally get it off my chest."

Neville sighed. "Look, just _tell_ him. If he feels the same way about you, how can you possibly go wrong?"

Harry sighed with him. "I dunno, Nev… I'm not very good with being upfront with people I like that way…"

"Then let him tell you, and then you can just stop this little charade and start shagging already."

Harry flushed even more. "But what if he never does anything about it?"

"Then he's an idiot, because any guy would have to be to not want to get you under their skin in every possible way."

"Thanks, Nev. You're such a great friend," Harry said, moving to hug him for just a few moments before pulling back to look him in the eye. "So… just _tell_ him?"

"I'd say so, yeah. I think it's really your only option, Harry, just tell him and see what he says. If he doesn't say or do anything right away, then it wasn't meant to be. But if he throws you down on his desk and snogs you senseless, then, well…"

Harry nodded, and smiled. "Thanks."

Neville really was a great friend, of that Harry was sure.

_"Dinner!"_

--

"Would you like an éclair, Sir?" asked the waiter, to which Draco snagged one from the trays being passed around, his drink held in the other hand.

"Yes, thank you." Draco turned back to the rest of the party, spotting Harry easily in the crowd. The boy really stood out now ever since he had acquired his whole new look, especially those _nails_ of his, dear god. Draco had noticed that manicure of Harry's when he'd given Draco his coffee the other morning. And _damn_ did the other boy look good. Draco threw back the rest of his drink, finally gathering up the rest of any courage he had been trying to build up all night, and walked determinedly toward the brunet, who was talking with Blaise, who he'd hired a year ago to be the magazine's stylist.

Potter did a double take as he saw Draco coming toward him, taking on that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look pretty well as he stared at Draco.

"I need to talk to you, Potter," Draco told him, as he stopped right in front of him.

"Er… is something the matter, Sir?" Harry asked him, trying to be the perfect little assistant and being sure to get Draco anything he might need.

"No, Potter, I just need to speak with you." Draco's eyes flickered toward Blaise and back, as he saw the man raise an eyebrow at their exchange, smirking all the while. "_Alone_, please?"

"Oh, sure, of course, yes."

"Fine, count me out, I think I see Pansy over there, anyhow," Blaise announced, excusing himself.

Harry followed Draco out and into an adjoining room.

"Listen, Potter, I think you should know that I, uhm… I like you, Potter," he said in a rush, and clenched his eyes shut to block out what he was sure to see - Potter's standing there with a look of utter disgust as he stared at Draco.

Harry nodded at him. "Yeah, I… I sort of already know that, actually."

Draco's eyes shot open in surprise. "What? You do?"

"Yeah, uhm, you see… Parkinson told me… earlier this week, really."

Draco glared. "I can't believe the bitch told you!"

Harry, boldened, stepped forward and grabbed Draco's hand in his own. "And I like you, too… Sir." Harry lifted his eyes to Draco's, and Draco could see the silent, blazing fire that resided in the brilliant emerald orbs.

"You do?" Draco asked dumbly, and he couldn't, for some reason he couldn't possibly fathom, take his eyes off him.

Harry chuckled. "You're not very eloquent tonight, are you, Sir?" Harry quipped with a smile.

And then just like that, Draco was back to normal. One insult to his ego, and he was back to glaring. "Shut it, Potter."

Harry laughed again, and leant up to hold Draco's cheek in his hand and place a sweet, sincere, lingering kiss on the blond's lips.

Draco instinctively closed his eyes at the initial contact and kissed back fully as he put his hands on either side of Harry's waist, gradually making his way down to his hips, and eventually, Harry's nice, pert arse. Draco squeezed, causing Harry to squeak into the kiss, though Draco smothered it with thrusting his tongue into the other man's mouth. Harry let out a moan, feeling his head start to swim and his mind go hazy.

Harry broke off, panting, as he struggled to catch his breath, along with Draco, who was doing the same, and closed his eyes at his muddled mind. "U-uhm… right, well. That was - uhm…"

"Bloody brilliant," Draco finished for him.

Harry nodded, looking up into Draco's eyes. "Yeah. Exactly. _Sir_."

Draco leaned back into him, backing Harry up against the wall. "Gods, I don't think you know what saying that does do me…"

Harry smiled. "I think I have a few ideas…"

Draco silenced him with his tongue, once again.

"Now," Harry said, "how about we talk about a promotion?"

"Maybe later. If you're a good little assistant, that is."

_Finite!_


End file.
